


To the Victor

by HeLovedYou



Category: Marvel, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Coming Out, Getting Together, M/M, Steve Rogers-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:55:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25367206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeLovedYou/pseuds/HeLovedYou
Summary: There are rainbows flying and people hugging and others ranting and raving, spittle flying, and he thinksthis. We have won this, this tiny victory.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 4
Kudos: 38
Collections: Lights on Park Ave





	To the Victor

**Author's Note:**

> Created for the Lights On Park Ave prompt challenge, round 11, for [this prompt](https://lightsonparkave.tumblr.com/post/622478206608572416/the-only-way-to-deal-with-an-unfree-world-is-to)

When Steve wakes up they tell him they’ve won, don’t mention what they’ve lost and don’t define “winning” either.

He explores his new unfortunate world and thinks _no. We haven’t. How could we think that._

When, four years later, there are rainbows flying and people hugging and others ranting and raving, spittle flying, he thinks _this. We have won this, this tiny victory._

And when his legacy gets tugged and pulled from all sides he clenches his fists and finds himself in the gym, furious and conflicted and, at the end of it all, righteous.

He sets up an interview. He mentions it to no one, goes quietly when the day comes and returns even quieter as the sun begins to sink below a familiar skyline.

Several days later, he enters the communal kitchen to be greeted by his own grim expression staring up from the glossy pages of whatever magazine he’d bargained with. He stares and stares and looks up to find kind eyes and empathy. He breathes.

He avoids social media with a vengeance but knows he’s in the minority and accepts when Thor of all people strides up to him, phone in hand, and pats his shoulder.

“Steve! I am told that Midgardian courting traditions see many people frown upon such declarations. Your courage in this regard is most admirable!”

Despite himself, he cranes his neck as Thor releases his grip and peers down at the phone that’s displaying Twitter’s search page. Under trending he spots # _CaptainAmericaIsGay_ and # _GiveCaptainAmericaABoyfriend_ and he feels dizzy at just the hint of it all.

Later in the evening he’s sitting with Natasha and Clint and he wants to know, needs someone’s reassurance, so he lets the words fall from his lips.

When the pair exchange quick looks, he licks his lips and repeats himself, nervous and quiet and desperate.

“Did I do the right thing? I- I just wanted to help and-“ he pauses, disgust flashing over his features “And the things some people were saying. About me- about Captain America.”

He shakes his head and looks up at his friends and they smile, compassionate and warm and happy. He lets relief wash over him as he sits back and thinks _yes._

This, too, is a victory.

Much much later, when the moon has crossed the boundary into morning and the three of them have been talking as old friends do, a cup of coffee is set in front of him and a warm presence settles beside him.

When he wakes early the following afternoon, he wakes to find a link in his email and when he clicks on it, it opens to an article titled “Captain America: What He Means to Us.”

He reads it and afterwards feels his chest crack to reveal something raw beneath. He carries the article with him all day and reaches out to the author to thank her and wish her the best in her future.

After that he’s surprised at how free he feels, no longer as if he is containing a secret too dark and potent to be let out, and thinks, somewhat detached, _huh. Well then._

Only after his legacy has been dragged through every mud puddle and lake there is does he realise exactly how necessary it had been.

Captain America was never supposed to stand, shining and clean, above the people he fought for. He was supposed to be dirt streaked and tired in the trenches, with every person else.

Eventually, as all things tend to, life goes on. He laughs with his friends and works to the bone and every now and then trades furtive glances and touches that linger a little longer each time, and for the first time in a long time, he is full with contentment.

At the end of the day, the gentle brushing of lips against his is just an added bonus, but one he welcomes with open arms, and with it, denounces the desperate cruelty around them.

_This,_ he thinks as he grins into brown eyes, _is what victory feels like._


End file.
